


Tony Stark is the New Tokyo

by CiderSky



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Another Stupid Title From Cider Sky, Caw Caw Motherfucker, Clint hates arm prisons, Crack, F/M, Gen, Get it?, Humor, It's in my hair get it out, Pepper isn't getting sleep, This shit is silly, Thor is Thor, Tony and Steve go to a strip club, Tony hates moths, Vague Godzilla Joke, arc reactor problems, sad keanu, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiderSky/pseuds/CiderSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark has a complicated relationship with moths.</p>
<p>(A response to this glorious prompt found at the avenger_kinkmeme: “I'd like to see some crack fic about Tony having ridiculous amounts of problems with moths being drawn to the light of his reactor EVERY TIME he goes out on summer evenings.”)</p>
<p>Crackity crack crack for all!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tony Stark is the New Tokyo

**Author's Note:**

> If you don’t like crack!fic you should turn back. Seriously. Same deal with MC Hammer Can’t Touch This, meaning, pure ridiculousness and general stoopid. But it did spawn a more kind of serious piece that will be available in the next week.
> 
> Enjoy!

It starts like this.

With the sun set, the city glitters beneath Stark Tower like a small universe. Tony can’t help but feel terribly accomplished – the filet mignon had been divine, the wine perfectly matched and he hadn’t once said something unpalatable during dinner. 

A first for him. Apparently.

He pulls Pepper from the table, watching as she smooths her short summer dress, and grins because he knows exactly how to end this night.

The whole gazing at the city thing and being quiet thing seems to work because Pepper leans in to kiss him, tiptoeing into his height because, yes, sometimes she did in fact wear flats instead of heels and Tony thinks it’s adorable, sexy actually, because he’s been thinking dirty things all day.

Their lips touch for a brief moment and it’s suddenly very _not_ adorable and extremely unsexy when she shrieks and pushes him away, catching him in the xiphoid process.

“Mphh-Pep –“ He starts just as something flutters in front of his face, causing him to jerk back, his muscles bunching _way_ too hard over the motion.

“It’s in my hair!” She squeals and flails in a way one might consider unfitting for the CEO of one of the world’s most powerful companies. Just saying.

“It’s not –“ It is. It is totally in her hair. A grotesquely large moth with long spindly … feelers and beady bug eyes is in her hair and what the _hell_ is going on in New York that has them growing this big? 

Scratch that. It’s New York. He’s _seen_ the cockroaches, pigeons and rats; he had even once mistaken one of the rodents for a poodle, a poodle he was going to take home to Pepper and name ‘I’m-Sorry-Forgive-Me-I-Love-You?’ before it had hissed at him.

But still. This wasn’t New Jersey. There is no reason for a moth of that size to be fluttering around his roof. 

“Tony – do something!” Pepper manages and Tony stares, tracking it’s sporadic moments because seriously, too big.

He should catch it in the name of science. But. No.

He swats and catches Pepper in the ear.

“Ow, seriously - ?”

“I’m sorry, it’s spry!”

She’s still squealing and Tony grimaces as her voice hits decibels that are incompatible with human eardrums.

“Pep. Babe. Shnookums. Calm down. It’s just a-agh –“ Something flutters past his ear, tickling him and sending a shiver down his spine with it’s creepy, fuzzy legs and wings and _fuck_ – “it’s in _MY_ hair –“

“Don’t you abandon me!” He calls out as Pepper backs gratefully away, her arms curling around herself and she makes a sound of disgust, shaking a chill from her body.

“Jarvis! Kill it!”

“Oh my God!” It’s Pepper’s turn to revel at the size of the beast.

“I know! Right?” Tony grabs at something – a fork – and begins swinging in a manner that would make a whirling dervish proud.

“Tony, hold –“ Before Tony can comply Pepper’s hand comes down on his forehead, _hard,_ accompanied by a loud squelch.

Pepper sighs and Tony feels like he could cry. No. He feels like he will cry, crying will happen.

“There.” He watches as she grimaces at the mess on her hand and tries to ignore the ooze dripping down his face. 

* * *

 Tony is trying to enjoy himself.

Really.

“And this one – this used to be a deli.” Steve tilts his head, looking at the incredible window display of lingerie and – God, Steve is blushing – sex toys, his expression suggesting he’s not entirely sure what is supposed to go where. “I think.”

It’s priceless, the whole situation, and he’s brought a camera to capture the best of Steve’s reactions as they stroll through Steve’s old neighborhood. This one qualifies but dammit, there’s a small army of moths hovering in front of his chest, despite his annoyed floundering.

He doesn’t know why they’re choosing him over the lazy, dim street lamps of Brooklyn – they’re well populated by flies and some other moths, it looks like a damn good time, a regular moth party - but he definitely doesn’t appreciate it. He suspects it has something to do with the wavelengths put out by his arc reactor; like the difference between a standard light bulb and a UV bulb.

“And that one was a barber shop.” Steve says, his voice dipping into slow confusion. Another childhood memory turned sex shop.

Tony looks up at the store in question and oh yeah, that one. He knows that one. He doesn’t tell Steve that. Self respect and all that.

“Why is everything … stores like these?” Steve says gesturing vaguely towards the endless display of dildos, nipple tassels, swings and whatever the fuck _that_ thing is.

“Sex shops?” Tony says with a waggle of his brows that has Steve turning red.

“Things have changed. _Priorities_ have cha-pfft –“ One of the moths flutters too close to his mouth and what the hell? Couldn’t a man talk sex shops without a moth entering his mouth?

“Oh. Wow.” Steve says dumbly as he realizes just what Tony’s basic malfunction seems to be.

“Oh, come on.” Ton grumbles as Steve slinks away.

“It’s just … there’s –“ Steve steps a good three feet away, giving him an apologetic half smile, “- there’s a lot of them.”

And there are. They’re flitting around his face and one has just landed on his chest, just over the arc reactor. He swats it away, a chill building as he feels it’s weight and furry appendages bounce off his hand.

Another replaces it within seconds and Tony’s hands drop to his side, dejected.

He knew he should’ve worn something more substantial than his thin, black T-shirt. But no! He would be letting the little flying bastards win if he did that. It was summer and this particular night was deliciously perfect and he was going to enjoy it sans sleeves; or as Clint called them, ‘arm prisons.’

He must look pathetic. In fact, he knows he does, because some punk ass kid snaps a picture on his phone – he will ruin that kid’s reputation via the Internet, he swears - and then Tony catches his reflection in a store window painted with phalluses. 

Steve notices too and tries to offer some consolation. Its adorable.

“I’d say let’s step inside,” Steve says and then gestures to their surrounds, “but, well –“

It is an exceedingly easy choice. Moth hell or watching Steve cringe inside of a sex shop and/or risqué bar.

“No, no. Let’s step inside. Definitely step inside. This place is great.” Tony swats one more time before ushering Steve towards a hot little number named ‘The Blue Oyster Bar.’

“Oysters? Haven’t had those in ages.” Steve remarks and yes, this is better than moth hell. 

* * *

 The next morning, the Internet is alight with memes.

Memes involving him. And moths. And bad Godzilla puns.

It all revolves around that picture – the one with him looking utterly depressed as he looks down at the army of moths hovering in front of his chest.

He is going to ruin that kid.

It takes no more than ten minutes of this existing for Clint to text him.

_This is exceptional. It’s sadder than sad Keanu._

 

_You’re one to talk. Caw caw motherfucker._ Tony texts back and gets to tracking down the punk kids IP address. 

* * *

Tony finds them at his poolside, enjoying a rare moment of not being on a mission, training, cleaning guns, hiding in vents, or scaring the shit out of him by just appearing from thin air. 

He makes his way across the pool deck, ignoring the fact that the two are sunbathing – apparently – at dusk, and slides into the pool chair next to the archer.

“They’re trying to … do something to me.” Tony watches carefully as Clint lets out an exasperated sigh and lowers his shades.

“Is this about … moths?”

“Yes.” Tony glowers darkly from under his self indulgent Iron Man hoodie.

“Ugh. Are we still talking about the moths?” Clint groans.

“YES. We are. This is my pool, ergo my choice in conversational pursuits. Deal with it, Barton.” Tony looks over at Natasha who is clearly doing her best to pretend she doesn’t hear any of this – except she’s smirking and dammit, he’s never been so tempted to _try_ and smack her.

Moths were colluding against him en masse. He expects a little sympathy.

“Oh, okay, as long as we weren’t being too dramatic or anything.”

There’s a long silence as Clint sighs, clearly enjoying the warm summer evening in his trunks, Natasha in her interesting yet confusingly arranged bikini, and Tony cringes, grabbing at his hoodie, miserably hot.

“Maybe you can install a bug zapper. Or fly tape.” Clint offers with a grin as the sun dips below the horizon and the first moth drifts lazily towards a light near the roofs main door.

“Oh! Or like a –“ Clint gestures uselessly with his right hand in some sort of swatting motion while his left firmly holds onto a beer.

“Fly swatter?” Natasha offers, not even looking up from her trashy gossip rag. Clint nods, pointing at his fellow assassin.

“That. Only mechanical and … iron-man-y.” Clint takes a long sip, scrunching his forehead in concentration. “You know. Red and Gold.”

“Thanks, birdbrain. You know, you might have a future in R&D. Red and Gold. Brilliant.” He waxes sarcastic even though yeah, he’s already thought about Clint’s suggestions and might be building a non-lethal moth tranquilizing agent.

Clint flips him the finger.

The sun is down now and they make no signs of moving on. Barton doesn’t even remove his sunglasses.

“There’s something very wrong with you two.”

* * *

 He decides to try it, the fly swatter thing.

Its a terrible idea.

What he ends up with is a mini version of Dummy that he can attach to his clothing. It takes a shot at his face first chance he gets.

He names it MiniDummy and gives it to the larger version as a gift/lover. Dummy’s arm whirs in delight before knocking over several classes and setting a small fire.

At least someone is happy.

* * *

Tony jolts awake at the sound of something knocking lightly against the wall and the purr of wings.

“Tony –“

 “Shh.” It flutters again, knocking into something metallic.

“What’re you –“

 

“Shhhh!” Something brushes the ceiling.

“You hear that?” Tony whispers, head whipping around trying to track the sound.

“Did you leave the balcony door open?”

Pepper groans.

“Pep. It’s inside. Listen.” 

“I don’t hear anything.” She mutters into the dark, sitting up on her elbows.

“It knows I know its here.”

“I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

“Me too.”

* * *

 “So, this is … nice.” Bruce tries as Tony hands him a glass, a welcoming to his roof.

“Very … bright? There’s ambience.” Bruce continues and Tony glares because he knows that tone, know when Bruce is trying not to tell him he’s being crazy.

And he’s not. So what if he’s had a couple dozen industrial bug zappers installed on his balcony. So what if it’s luminescence ”mimics daylight” or whatever Pepper had said. It’s _his_ balcony and he’ll do whatever he likes with it. 

* * *

 They all go out to dinner, the whole gang, and everyone wants to sit outside. Of course they do.

He warns them and they all try to placate him with promises of ‘protection’ and the fact that the place has more lights than a moth will know what to do with and his will be the last thing they gravitate to. 

He complains. They win.

“One moth and I’m viralizing memes about all of you. Embarassing ones. Sexual ones.”

The waiter gives Tony a weird look but leads them to the table regardless.

It goes okay, even though Natasha’s lentil soup is a bit watery and the waiter is unable to sufficiently keep up with Thor’s consumption of bread from their complimentary basket.

Tony begins to think maybe he was overreacting.

Until Natasha slams a palm against his chest, the skin around his reactor stinging from being _slapped_ and the arc reactor making a soft ‘thud’ sound.

“What –“

“It’s nothing.” She says in a calm voice, her expression betraying nothing despite the fact that she hasn’t removed her hand.

“Oh, I knew it! It’s –“

“Nothing! Don’t look.” She spits murderously and he stares directly at her, despite her order to _not_ do so, as she peels her hands from his shirt and “discreetly” turns away, her hand sneaking under the table.

There’s a moment of silence that Clint breaks with an annoyed shout.

“Ugh, Tasha! C’mon! It’s all mangled and –“ The woman has clearly just wiped the mess on Clint’s pants.

“You are all terrible people.” Tony grouses. Next time they’re sitting inside.

* * *

 “Its back.” Tony whispers into the night. “I think it touched my face.”

Silence answers him.

He shifts in bed. Raucously. 

Still nothing.

 “Pep. Its in your hair.”

 A pillow comes down hard onto his face.

* * *

 “Genetically modified to … torture me.” Tony says seriously, his gaze serious as he stares at the poor, sad little corpse of a moth he had straight up murdered in the middle of night. The whole thing had been an ordeal and Pepper had kicked him out, forcing him to sleep elsewhere.

Which he didn’t.

Instead, he had woken Bruce with the promise of science. And the declaration of an emergency: stage 5.

“Unlikely.” Bruce supplies as he fiddles with his coffee mug and waits with not so bated breath for the computer to run the test Tony demanded they run.

If this situation was teaching him anything, it was that Tony had a loose interpretation of the word ‘Emergency’.

“Hive mind. They think I’m their queen. That’s it Bruce. They love me.” Tony suggests, seeing that Bruce has just shot down his genetic modification theory.

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“Please. Don’t eyebrow me! Remember when Mjolnir fell in love with Clint? It’s not that weird.” Tony snaps and Bruce raises two hands in a way he hopes says, ‘no-sorry-that’s-totally-it.’

“Or –“ Tony starts again, suggesting what would be theory number forty, “nanobots. Taking the shape of moths in order to … torture me.”

They all end that way, it seems, and Bruce can’t help think it’s sort of unoriginal.

“Mutant moths.” Tony mutters at one point and Bruce is now certain – positive - he is cracking.

“Or – “

“Or –“ Bruce starts as the lab computer beeps and the results are splayed before him. “- it’s just a moth.”

Tony stares blankly.

“As in a normal moth doing moth things with moth friends on his own moth time.”

It’s the most disappointing news he’s heard all summer. He really had been hoping for mutant moths.

* * *

 It turns out the only one who is going to take any of this seriously is Thor and _finally_. Finally, someone is being reasonable.  Finally, someone is going to _listen_ to his story.

They talk about it over waffles.

“I hear your story, friend Tony.” Thor says over a mouthful of waffle and strawberries. Tony nods and hands over the syrup when Thor gestures towards it.

“And?”

“I have thought about it and I wonder –“ Tony swallows his own mouthful and gestures him to continue, slight impatience leaking into his movements.

“Have you knowingly angered the Queen Mother of these winged creatures? Have you spurned her? Do you war with them, these Mawths?" 

It turns out it isn’t the type of serious he was hoping for. Tony sighs and goes back to the stunning waffle house he has built. 

* * *

 This goes on for six more weeks until Tony has a breakthrough. It takes time and science and a lot of moth corpses but he manages a rather elegant solution.

“Is that a –“ Bruce asks, eyes on the circular thing in Tony’s hand.

“A very sophisticated anti-Lepidoptera device. Yes.”

“It’s a lens cap.” Natasha deadpans because nope, she just couldn’t let him have it, couldn’t let him bask in his victory.

“And you made fun of my fly swatter thing.” Clint complains.

Tony decides there’s no way he’s ever telling Clint that his idea was even considered let alone that it exists and is probably swatting the shit out of everything in his lab right now.

“This is the project you were working on for the past few weeks?” Steve asks, trying to sound polite but failing. Skepticism is dripping from his overall, unimpressed tone.

“Yes,” Thor adds, his expression thoughtful, “I expected more for such a professedly terrible foe.”

Tony snorts because he doesn’t have time to explain how sophisticated it is. So what if it _looks_ like a lens cap. It isn’t. It emits frequencies that disrupt moth senses and dabbles in negative light but whatever… if its simpler for his team, those simple simpletons, lens cap it is.

He tells them so, even goes as far as calling them simple simpletons and it’s clear that no one is impressed.

“Field test time!” He says after a long stretch of silence. ‘Jarvis, have a car ready for us. We’re going to Brooklyn.”

* * *

They all go out to Brooklyn for Tony’s field test.

Only …

Its October, there’s a chill in the air and nary a moth to be seen.

* * *

  **An Epilogue in Which Mothra Makes an Appearance**

Its November when the call comes in, direct from Fury. Tony arrives last, touching down at the coordinates Clint had sent him. 

He’s about to ask just what they’re responding to because hello, nothing but city and a remarkable lack of screaming and panic, when the air vibrates with an unworldly screech and gusts of wind come in waves as the air pulses in odd _whoosh_ es _._

Tony is about to request visual confirmation when he sees it and holy mother of not cool –

An enormous, space whale sized – and how messed up is it that he has _that_ size comparison stored away – beast with wings comes into view, settling with a loud thud on the side of a building, glass and metal raining down from its grip.

It takes Tony one second to realize what it is.

It’s a giant, freaking, moth.

Tony might have screamed a little. Just a little.

“Nope.” Tony says once he's regained his bearings because Thor is already on it, electricity coursing through the thing and yeah, its going to be an easy take down.

They really don’t need his help. Not at all.

And it’s true, The stupid thing he’s nicknamed Mothra is down in five minutes and yep, Tony is ready to call it a day.

* * *

He tries not to freak out later when SHIELD reports to him that it is believed the alien creature had been attracted to the planet and more specifically, their city by a large-scale, non-electrical energy source.

Tony thinks that maybe, jsut maybe he should've listened to Thor afterall. 

**Author's Note:**

> To be fair, I totally warned you.


End file.
